


This Time

by skitockså (Okumen)



Category: Ginga Eiyuu Densetsu | Legend of the Galactic Heroes
Genre: Canonical Child Abuse, Child Abuse, Choking, Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Physical Abuse, Verbal Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:16:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27190957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Okumen/pseuds/skitocks%C3%A5
Summary: "You waste of space," his father calls him.
Kudos: 2





	This Time

**Author's Note:**

> Read the original thread on twitter: https://twitter.com/tofinut/status/1320149744128282624

"You waste of space," his father calls him.

It's something Oscar has gotten used to over the years. The insults. They bite into his spirit, pulling away piece by bloody piece, until he only is able to feel numbness at the words.

"You should never have been born." It's one of his fathers favourites, a line he has heard so often now that he can't really feel the pain from the words any more.

"You should've gone out that damn window back then, too." He probably should have, but his mother hadn't wanted him either. Bringing the evidence of her infidelity along on her one-way trip to Valhalla was not something she would have done, he was sure. Not after she had tried and failed to gouge his incriminating odd eye out of its socket.

But surely, having died as an infant would have been that much easier for him.

"Not too late to rid myself of you, damn menace."

It's not an entirely unfamiliar string of words, slurred out with an alcohol thick tongue, but those still are able to rattle him, pull at Oscars strings and send pain through his veins.

The hand that wraps around Oscars throat is large, gloved.

His father doesn't want to touch him. Not unless it is with violent hands, and then, he never does so with his bare hands.

As if touching his so-called "son" skin against skin might infect him with some undesireable disease.

Fingers squeezes, presses tight into Oscars throat, sharp stabs at five points and a firm pressure against the front.

It's difficult to breathe, he wants to struggle for breath instinctively, wants to pull the hand locked around his thin throat away, but Oscar remains still.

The pain from the words, from the knowledge of what his father is attempting, coarses through him, the combined pain of years of hurt.

For a "crime" he had never had any control over.

He never asked to be born. Why would he be allowed to ask to live or die, now?

If he could choose, he would rather it all end already.

He didn't want to keep feeling the pain, the emptiness, the despair.

So if one parent could finish what the other started, maybe he could finally be free of his suffering.

Tears and darkness prickled his vision. 

He wasn't allowed it.

He came to on the floor, started at the cieling. For a long time, he wasn't sure. How long had he been out? The tears that involuntarily had stained his cheeks previously were dry, making the skin of his face tight.

It felt as if his father had known what Oscar had wished for, as his vision darkened.

And Oscar never got what he really wanted.


End file.
